The Rivalry (21 page)

“What’s your problem?” he yelled at Ramspeth. “Why don’t you stop staring at the kid and focus on the game?”

“Settle down, Coach,” Ramspeth said.

“I’m not a coach,” Taylor said. “Am I wearing a headset?”

Ramspeth didn’t have an answer for that one, and Taylor kept going. “How many more phantom calls are you guys going to make today?” he asked. “Are you going to make sure NO ONE scores in this game?”

Taylor had clearly hit a nerve. Ramspeth walked right up to him and said, “Okay, that’s it,” and threw a flag into the air. Daniels instantly trotted over.

“What’ve you got, Terry?” he asked.

“I don’t even know who this guy is,” he said. “But he’s wearing Army gear and he’s screaming profanities at me. Unsportsmanlike conduct.”

“Profanities?” Taylor said. “That’s an absolute lie.”

Rich Ellerson came sprinting down the sideline. “What’s going on with you guys, Mike? You’re throwing flags on my team doc?”

“Terry says he used profanity.”

Taylor cut in. “Complete and utter lie.”

Hall and Kelly jumped in too. “No way,” they both said. “He was talking to him, but there was no cursing.”

Stevie wanted to back Taylor up too, but he figured he’d better keep his mouth shut.

“Give me a minute,” said Daniels, who pulled Ramspeth away to talk. It looked like a heated conversation—Ramspeth was waving his arms; Daniels kept putting his palms downward to indicate he needed to calm down. Finally Daniels nodded and stepped clear of Ramspeth and opened his microphone.

Pulling
his
flag from his back pocket, he waved it in the air. “There is no flag,” he said simply. Then he trotted over to Ellerson. “I’m cutting you some slack because it’s an emotional game. But one more word from your sideline and the flag will stick.”

Ellerson nodded but didn’t say anything until the officials walked away. Then he turned to Taylor, Kelly, and Hall, his voice surprisingly soft. “You guys need to cool it. Doesn’t matter how right you are and how wrong they are. We can’t afford an unsportsmanlike in a scoreless game.”

They all nodded as Daniels blew his whistle to put the ball back in play.

Taylor was still shaking his head five minutes later. “Man, usually refs are thicker-skinned than that. Guy went nuts, didn’t he?”

Stevie smiled. “Well, you did imply he wasn’t going to let anyone score.”

Dicky Hall laughed. “Yeah, but he’s said much worse and never gotten that strong a reaction.”

“Much worse,” Tim Kelly agreed.

“Hey!” Taylor protested. “Whose side are you on?”

Stevie laughed with them but then suddenly froze. What if …?

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Stevie told his friends, and as Army came out of the huddle to resume play, he began running down the field to the end zone so he could cross to the Navy side. Susan Carol was standing with two men in Navy uniforms when he got there.

“Hey, you. Can you believe this game?” she said. “At least neither team can say the refs are cheating them. Every time one team gets a bad call, then the other one does too.”

Stevie was a bit winded, so he didn’t respond right away. “Tell me again what your dad told you about betting and the over-under?”

Susan Carol shot him a look as Steelman picked up four yards and the crowd on the sideline moved away from them to follow the play.

“What—?”

“Just repeat it for me.”

She sighed but did as asked. “If you bet the over-under, the bookie picks a number and you say whether the total score for both teams will be more or less than that number. What is this about?”

“What’s the score?” Stevie asked.

“Nothing-nothing.”

“And what’s happened every time someone gets close to scoring?”

She opened her mouth to answer and then stopped. “Oh my God!” she said. “Every time someone has had a chance to score, there’s been a penalty.”

Steelman threw an incomplete pass in the direction of Michael Arnott, leaving Army at third and six.

“It’s the perfect solution, right?” Stevie said. “Everyone sits back and says, ‘Well, the officiating may be bad, but it’s been bad both ways.’ They can’t use the same tack as at Notre Dame. This way they can control the game without making anyone suspicious.”

“Do you
really
think …?”

“Yes,”
Stevie said. “I do.”

Army was lining up to punt, having failed to pick up a first down. There was 2:14 left in the half, and Navy had called time out hoping to get good field position and put together some kind of drive in those last two minutes. TV had taken yet another time-out for more commercials.

“What do we do?” Susan Carol asked. “How could we prove it? We can’t just walk into the referees’ locker room at halftime and accuse them of bettin’ on the game.”

“No, we can’t. But the Secret Service and the FBI can. You know there are FBI agents here today. There have to be. And fixing a game is a federal offense.”

She pulled out her cell phone and began dialing.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Mr. Dowling.” She paused. “Mr. Dowling, I know this sounds crazy, but are there FBI people here today?” She
paused again. “Is there any way you can meet us in the tunnel near the referees’ locker room? Like now?”

Dowling said something in response and Susan Carol nodded. “I swear I wouldn’t bother you if it was.

“Okay, thank you. We’ll walk over there right now.”

She snapped the phone shut. “He can’t come himself because the president is going to cross the field soon. But he’s sending two FBI guys to meet us.”

“Wow,” Stevie said. “I guess he trusts us a little, anyway.”

She nodded. “I know—I hope we’re right about this.” Stevie smiled, and then she said, “Wait, I mean, I wish we were wrong, of course, but I hope we’re right.…”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They jogged in the direction of the tunnel, stopping in the end zone to watch Army punt. Navy came with a ten-man rush, trying to block the punt. Someone broke through the middle and ran right at punter Kyle Delahooke. Stevie saw the ball come off Delahooke’s foot and smack into the Navy defender’s outstretched hands. The ball careened off his hands to the right and there was a mad scramble for it.

A Navy player scooped it up—Stevie saw it was number 15—and ran toward the end zone. As he crossed the goal line, the Navy sideline exploded.

But Susan Carol was shaking her head. “Look,” she said, pointing across the field.

Sure enough, there was a flag.

“Would you like to bet this call goes against Navy?”

“Oh no,” Stevie said. “I’m not a betting man.”

Mike Daniels was consulting with line judge Terry Ramspeth and solemnly nodded.

“Offside,” he said. “On the defense. It’s a five-yard penalty. Repeat fourth down.”

Stevie looked down the sideline just in time to see Kenny Niumatalolo steaming toward Daniels, headset off, screaming. “Who was it?” he demanded. “What number? You didn’t even give a number! What game are you guys watching out there?”

“Come on,” Susan Carol said. “Let’s go find the FBI.”

They took off for the tunnel, where guards and Secret Service agents were posted, blocking people from coming onto the field.

“If you leave now, you can’t come back until the president has crossed the field,” someone in a suit warned them.

“It’s okay,” Stevie said. “We understand.”

They turned the corner and ran for the officials’ locker room.

Two men in dark suits were waiting.

“Are you Steve and Susan Carol?” one of them said. He was very tall, with short-cropped dark hair.

“That’s us,” Susan Carol said.

“I’m Agent Mayer; this is Agent Caccese,” the tall one said. “What have you kids got?”

“Your theory, Stevie,” Susan Carol said. “Tell them.”

Stevie did, talking as fast as he could about all the calls
and about Ramspeth’s reaction when Dean Taylor had mentioned making sure no one scored.

Mayer looked at Caccese. “What do you think?”

“I’ve heard crazier theories that have been proven out,” Caccese said. “And after all the fuss at the Notre Dame game, we’ve been watching for anomalies here. Gamblers come in all shapes and sizes.”

“And stripes,” Mayer added.

Caccese rolled his eyes and pulled out his cell.

“Tom, when the officials come off, stall them a minute. Tell them the service is sweeping their locker room one more time.”

“What’re you going to do?” Stevie asked.

“I’m going to put a bug in their locker room,” Caccese said. “See if they say anything interesting during halftime. I’ll need about fifteen minutes to get it done.”

After a few more phone calls and about five minutes, four more FBI guys appeared, two carrying suitcases. Also two Secret Service agents and two bomb-sniffing dogs. The six of them walked to the door of the officials’ locker room and knocked while Mayer, Caccese, Stevie, and Susan Carol held back in the hallway. Todd, the attendant, answered. Stevie couldn’t hear what the FBI and Secret Service agents said, but he heard Todd say, “There are only twenty-two seconds left in the half; the guys’ll be in here in about two minutes.”

Whatever was said in response, Todd came out and the six men and two dogs went in. Todd leaned against the wall and shook his head.

The half ended while they were waiting. Stevie and Susan Carol shrank back behind Mayer and Caccese while the seven officials walked past, escorted by several yellow-jacketed security men, but none of them looked left or right as they walked.

When they got to the door and saw Todd, Mike Daniels said, “What’re you doing out here?”

Todd pointed at the door. “Secret Service is in there. They said they had to have the dogs check one more time.”

“Why?” Daniels asked. “The president isn’t coming anywhere near here again.”

“Ask them,” Todd said.

At that point, Agent Caccese walked down the hallway to Daniels.

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s strictly procedure when the president is still in the building. We rechecked the team locker rooms and everything else on this level too. It shouldn’t be more than another minute.”

“We need to get in there and prepare for the second half,” Daniels said.

“I understand. If you need, we can delay the start of the second half for an extra couple minutes.”

The door opened at that moment and the Secret Service men with the dogs came out first. The FBI guys—who Stevie hoped looked no different from the Secret Service guys to the refs—followed.

“All clear,” an agent said to Caccese. Turning to
Daniels, he said, “Sorry for the delay. We won’t need to bother you again.”

The officials made their way into the locker room and Todd followed. If any of the officials had spotted Stevie and Susan Carol, they gave no indication of it.

Caccese walked back to them and Agent Mayer.

“It’s all set. We’ve got people in the command center listening, and we’ll go back there now. We’ll let you know if we hear anything.”

“Thank you,” they said, just as strains of “Hail to the Chief” began again.

“Any way you can help us get back on the field to watch this?” Susan Carol asked. “We’d really like to see it.”

Caccese nodded. “Tom, take them out and see what you can do, will you? I’ll meet you back in the command center in five minutes.”

“Follow me, guys,” Mayer said.

He led them to the tunnel, which was blocked. “I’ve got two who have clearance from Pete Dowling to go back out,” he said.

Apparently those were the magic words. Mayer walked them onto the field. “You’ll be okay from here,” he said. “We’ll talk soon.”

Stevie checked the scoreboard clock and saw there were still twenty minutes left in the break.

He could see that the president had just reached the field. Representatives from the army, the navy, and
the marines lined both sides of the 50-yard line; all of them snapped to attention. As the president passed each person, he or she saluted.

Stevie could see Army superintendent Hagenbeck walking with the president, who was trailed by several other people in uniform, a number of Secret Service agents, and the usual phalanx of photographers and TV camera crews. Right at midfield were the representatives from Navy.

“I’m glad we got to see this,” Stevie said to Susan Carol.

“Me too,” she said. “But I wonder what’s going on in that referees’ locker room.”

Stevie wondered too. The president had reached midfield. The army officers snapped off salutes that were returned by their Navy counterparts. The president shook hands with the Army people and then joined the Navy people, who turned around to escort him to their sidelines. The entire stadium had come to its feet on both sides, applauding the scene.

“What do we do now?” Stevie asked as the president reached the other side of the field.

“We watch the halftime show,” Susan Carol said. “And we wait.”

T
he two bands put on an impressive halftime show, each ending its performance with the school fight song, which brought everyone back to their feet. Normally, Stevie would have enjoyed every minute of it, but he was squirming, looking at the clock every ten seconds, finding it hard to believe time could move so slowly.

The Army band cleared the field and the players came back out. And much to Stevie’s disappointment—so did the officials. Stevie and Susan Carol were both standing on the Army sideline. The clock was under two minutes. Apparently the second half would start on time.

“What do you think?” he asked Susan Carol.

“No idea,” she said.

Just as she finished, Stevie saw Pete Dowling, Bob Campbell, and the two FBI agents, Mayer and Caccese, coming out of the tunnel. Dowling spotted them, pointed
at them, and the four men began walking briskly in their direction.

“Think we’re in trouble?” Stevie asked.

“We’ll find out soon,” Susan Carol said, sounding a little bit shakier than Stevie would have hoped.

Dowling spoke first when the four men reached them.

“Your theory might be right,” he said. “But we can’t be sure.”

“What do you mean?” Susan Carol asked.

Dowling looked at Caccese, who filled them in. “We definitely heard some things that sound suspicious. The referee—is it Daniels?—was lecturing someone about keeping his cool, that getting into arguments with people on the sidelines didn’t help anything.”